The Day the World Ended
by Lee Savage
Summary: AU. Chiro does not succeed in reviving Antauri after the Skeleton King attempts to free the Dark One.
1. Chapter One

But little Mouse, you are not alone,  
>In proving foresight may be vain:<br>The best laid schemes of mice and men  
>Go often askew,<br>And leave us nothing but grief and pain,  
>For promised joy!<p>

—Robert Burns's "To a Mouse, on Turning Her Up in Her Nest with the Plough"

* * *

><p>Chapter One<p>

* * *

><p>After spending several dangerous nights in the formless-infested jungle, whimpering and searching for Antauri, Chiro experiences a horrible emptiness when he wakes up one morning and realizes that he is fully coherent. He exhales loudly and only hears his own voice within the sound, not a forlorn whine. Cold, wet, his clothes ruined and his face caked in dirt, the boy fights back the terrible notion that he's darted in here for absolutely nothing.<p>

But he cannot remember how he got here. Chiro sees images, smells dust and slick fur and dried blood. He inspects his arms and legs. Shallow scratches mark his limbs, but nothing is of an immediate concern. Chiro presses his palm into a fresh wound in the crook of his arm and inspects that same hand.

It rains. The boy hunches over and shivers, refusing to let his exhaustion render him unconscious. It's as if he's been asleep for days, yet he's still out of energy. He can't tell how long it's been since his thoughts were not his own. He's lost and settles himself uneasily against the low-hanging tree he woke up under; Chiro's skin crawls.

He's not supposed to be here. His feet dig into the soil, and it's a deep, damp black. The rain skims the surface of a small pond in front of his weak form. The boy leans over and searches for his reflection amidst the wet hair in his eyes and the drops disturbing the water.

He hardly recognizes himself. Unkempt. Large eyes like a stunned animal. The boy takes one glove off and feels the contour of his face. Yes, it's him. He's normal again. Chiro moves his hand in front of his eyes and inspects the crusted mud and small scabs. Resting back and ignoring the awful, gnawing hunger in his belly, Chiro pats his uniform and realizes that his tiny communicator is still attached to the fabric.

Chiro wonders how far the hyperforce is from him. Closing his eyes and concentrating on memories of their voices and faces, a shroud of distance encompasses his vision. Miles and miles of dense briar patches and ravenous beasts.

He taps the communicator twice with his eyes remaining closed. "M-Monkey team?" The hyperforce leader strains his ears against the thumping of the heavy rain and his own frantic heart.

Nothing.

(Failure. You've failed your world.)

No, Chiro refuses to give into his own crippling despair, the concentrated emptiness in his chest and the pressure in his throat.

(Dead. Never coming back.)

Softly, he says, "Team, come in." The young man says it again with more force. He's thirsty, but something tells him to avoid drinking the water at all costs.

A faint crackling. His heart races even faster, so unused to rest after these past few days of endless wandering and searching while scavenging for nothing.

"C-Chiro—you?" a voice answers, the reception cutting out most of the response. Pulling the fabric of his shirt closer to his face and rubbing a thumb against the smooth surface of the communicator, Chiro detects that the voice is female.

Someone else says, "Kid, you there?"

"I'm here," Chiro croaks.

Silence punctuated by the noises he mutes with the thudding of his heart—and then, "Chiro, w-where are you?"

"Nova, can—can you guys track me?" He waits, and more voices come into focus. He imagines them in the control room with its dents, talking in hushed voices.

"Chiro," she replies, "we're coming for you. Stay with us. Please."

The boy waits for another moment, he hears Gibson say, "Chiro, are you injured in any way?"

"No, nothing that'll kill me."

"Are you in a safe location?"

Chiro covers his mouth as he coughs. "N-Not really."

"Come again?"

Another voice emerges. "C'mon, Brain Strain. I don't think the kid really needs the third degree right now—"

"This is critical information, Sprx. We need to make sure that he's all right."

"Somehow," Sprx replies, "I doubt that."

"I suggest that if you want to be useful—" The boy sighs and looks around at the myriad trees and the darkness looming underneath them. It's as if he's gone back in time, before light and darkness knew just where to go.

Leaning forward, Chiro says, "Antauri."

The rain begins to die down. "Antauri! Where are you?" His mentor's name echoes throughout the gray and black jungle, growing almost ghoulish and mocking Chiro's calls.

No, nobody's supposed to die. They've made it this far. Surely, surely . . .

Chiro listens closely for any rustling, pushing his knees close and curling his arms around them. He makes his breathing even. After hours of waiting, of watching the murky sky grow darker, Chiro peers upward. The environment creeps toward him as if it wants to consume the lonely boy.

After many episodes of weaving in and out of consciousness, he sees a bunch of figures flying toward him. He stands slowly and begins to make his way past the pond.

"See him?"

"Yeah, there—"

"Chiro!"

"I'm here!" The boy pushes back the disappointment inside of him Because they're here, because something inside of him told the boy to try to find a way to speak with them, that means he will have to go back to the concrete world. Without Antauri. No more searching—yes, that's why he's here, isn't it? Antauri saved him, so—in a just world—shouldn't he save Antauri?

The monkeys land, and Chiro attempts to mix himself in their relief and typical dynamics. Nova's hug; Otto's smile; Gibson's protests as Sprx takes credit for pinpointing the exact location of his leader.

"Are you okay?" Nova asks.

"Yeah," the boy replies hoarsely. "What happened to me?"

She blinks. "You—I don't know."

"C'mon kid, let's get you home."

"No, I can't," he says. Despite the physical pain after hardly sleeping and scrambling a long distance for nothing, their leader states this as a blunt, unwavering fact. He's honestly too exhausted to argue back with any true force.

"Why?" Nova asks.

"I need to find Antauri."

"Kid . . ." They all give him sympathetic looks, and the blood rushes to his face. Even if he's technically the least experienced on the team, that doesn't mean that he likes it to come to the forefront of his attention.

Nova says, "Chiro, he's—Antauri's gone."

He's dead. That taboo word that's everywhere. (The grass is dead. The robot has no juice, so it's dead as well. You're killing me. I'm dead serious.)

Oh, and Antauri's dead. Dead, and the word hurts this time.

Death. His actions, any lack of care, can cause others to _die_. With all of their intense battles, that's never occurred to him before in such a hurtful way. And that should make him more resolved to be stronger. Even with all of the pain he's endured while only being fourteen, he promises himself that he won't let anyone else die. Maybe he's pushing himself too hard; maybe he's full of hubris to think he can fulfill such a goal, but he needs something to keep himself going.

"Trust me, Chiro," she says softly, "you're not the only one who misses him. We all want him back."

* * *

><p>Antauri's death doesn't truly hit the boy until his fourth day back in the Super Robot. The team's making repairs on their giant robot and helping out the city. They need to find the Dark One's head and, by now, it could be anywhere. Chiro tries not to dwell on his faults and failures. Now's not the time to feel sorry for himself. Gibson runs tests and test, and he determines that there's nothing abnormal about Chiro's state of health or mind. With all of his infinite knowledge, he cannot explain what happened after Antauri died.<p>

But one morning, shortly before the sun rises, he turns around and it's right there: Antauri's old helmet floating in his transportation tube.

And the images come surging back. Not just images—pure emotions. The anger seething, the terror jolting his heart when Antauri's eyes dimmed moments after Mandarin attacked him.

That knowing, calm smile as Antauri sacrificed himself. Killed himself. For everyone. If Chiro hadn't let the Skeleton King and Mandarin best him, then maybe, maybe—

"You left us," Chiro says to the helmet he cradled as a strange monkey hybrid. But that's not fair to Antauri. It was for the sake of the team and the entire world. Not to hurt anyone. He took the mantle given to Chiro.

Chiro. He's the Chosen One. He went to the pit alone. It was supposed to be him fighting. Antauri was never supposed to get involved. And there the boy goes again, judging his mentor and friend as if the black simian was meant to act according to Chiro's wants.

"I've failed you."

No final words. Only screaming. That sound punctuates Chiro's dreams. Even with the calm smile, the certainty and silent assurance, Antauri died in sheer agony for Shuggazoom. A hero. The one Chiro's supposed to be. And he can't even repay his friend by saving him.

He's had this talk before with the others, and his inner Gibson remarks that Antauri's no longer suffering, that they shouldn't interfere with whatever comes next. It's unnatural. He's gone, at peace; and it should stay that way, Chiro.

The boy's inner Nova then asks that, Chiro, if there was a way to get Antauri back, don't you think we would have already tried everything we could? She says this right along with that stare the boy hates. Those genuine, pitying eyes that tell him that he can't deny her words.

* * *

><p>Chiro sits on his bed with his legs crossed.<p>

"Kid, you don't fool me."

The boy looks up. Sprx stands at the entrance of the room. Chiro expects a wide grin, but he only smiles mirthlessly and shakes his head.

"It's crazy. You're so much like him."

Chiro's forehead bunches up. "Who?" He pushes one of his legs off of the bed. As wrong as it is, the first thing to come to mind is when Mandarin wanted Chiro on his side because they were both powerful and ambitious.

"Antauri. You didn't really fall for the floaty, stoic act, did you? You can't imagine the temper on that guy—but he just bottled it up all the time. Couldn't let his teammates see him falter."

Chiro lifts his chin. "Antauri wasn't like that."

"Kid, you're more like Antauri than you think. Trust me, I've known the guy for awhile."

"No, he was . . ."

"What, some bigger-than-life thing—perfect? No, he was stubborn, kid. One of the worst. Couldn't ever tell that guy he was wrong because he _sensed_ it. Because he was Antauri. Look around here, and tell me if there's anyone on this team who would doubt him if he said that we're all made of swiss cheese."

"He—he wasn't a joke."

"He wasn't made of _stone_, Chiro." Sprx taps the side of his noggin. "He had the same fancy doodads as the rest of us."

The boy looks down. "Antauri wasn't weak."

"You're right, he wasn't. And neither are you."

Chiro sighs. "You don't get it. I could have saved him, Sprx."

The red simian frowns. "How do you figure that?"

"He was right there. I could've stopped Mandarin somehow."

"Mandarin didn't kill Antauri, kid. He made that choice for himself. For you and us and Shuggazoom. You know, that hero thing."

"He would've died anyway—'cause, 'cause I didn't stop Mandarin from hurting him."

"No—you know, kid, you're not perfect. You won't save everyone."

"I'm supposed to."

"You're supposed to protect them. The bad guys are supposed to interfere with that. If you think that you're gonna win every time, then you're just as blind as Antauri was."

"Stop it." Chiro clutches his head. He can't think that way, even if it's the truth. He can't tell himself that his efforts might be for nothing, that it's not his fault if he wakes up to a corrupted world that has no concern for his efforts. The teenager stares at Sprx desperately. "I need him here. I don't know what to do."

"As weird as it sounds, you're in luck. Because nobody else knows either."


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

* * *

><p>If there was one possibly good outcome of Antauri's death, it could have been the stunning lack of discord amongst the hyperforce. Unity from shared determination. Unfortunately, that rule has never established itself. Their arguments are never too heated—with the exception of fights between Sprx and Gibson on who should be second-in-command, though these discussions lessened once Chiro lost his temper.<p>

He said, "Antauri just died a month ago, and all you guys care about are your own statuses, like it matters." Gibson then stated that forming a consolidated plan with designated roles was vital, and Nova amicably told him to shut up.

"Who's gonna drive the Brain Scrambler?"

Gibson turns his head sharply toward his companion. "_Otto._" They are all standing in front of the Super Robot after a day of helping the city. Chiro's fist clench as he recalls Gibson informing the others that he'd uncovered some deceased individuals from a site that had once been a hospital. Sprx had to nurse his tail in his hands when Otto accidentally dropped a sack of metal pieces onto it.

Without a dramatic change in his expression, Sprx says, "Gibson, believe it or not, but the kid's not made of glass." Chiro stands a few feet in front of them, unmoving as his eyes remain steadily on the top of the Super Robot.

The green monkey's shoulders lower. "It's—it was just a question. I mean, won't someone have to?"

"Man," Sprx says, "I wish this thing could maneuver itself sometimes."

"We could contact Jinmay," Nova suggests.

The red monkey grimaces. "Nothing against her, but that's probably not the best option."

Otto protests, "Hey, I like Jinmay! She's all robot-y."

"I didn't know you and Jinmay were on bad terms, Sprx. Did you two have a spat after you said one of your usual, idiotic barbs?" Gibson says.

"Look, it'll probably do some good for the kid, but let's just say that Jinmay's not really the, uh, _strongest_ candidate for kicking evil's butt. She could get hurt."

"Intimidated by another girl on the team, Sprx?" Nova jokes.

"It's not that!" the red monkey smirks. "Nova, you know I have a thing for strong women."

She scoffs. "Not a chance, Sprx."

* * *

><p><em>"Brain Strain, you okay?"<em>

_"Yes, I—I believe so, but I had no idea—I didn't think he—"_

_"Never thought I'd hear you speechless."_

Whereas Antauri died a noble death, Mandarin died a fitting and painful death of being dissected alive by a revolting gaggle of bulbous formless. To his shame, he screamed and begged. During those last few months of freedom, he devolved from a rational villain to a raving, repulsive maniac. For the love of the frozen lands, he worked with a one-eyed pink monkey in a dress with its grating voice—and—and—a pretty bow. A bow. And he used to be the scourge of Shuggazoom, the ominous skeleton in the beloved hyperforce's closet. Then he became a joke, the mutilated corpse buried in a nondescript place in the Zone of Wasted Years.

Wasted years indeed. Being a spirit is quite a bore. Worse than his state in that dreadful prison.

Obscure. Aimless. He wanders in an endless darkness, saying nothing and hunched over in his old, decrepit form. Before the mutation. If Mandarin wants to, he can wallow within a sea of bitterness. However, as he rattles off memories of his companions' betrayal and his maker's impolite dismissal of his services, there's very little resentment.

In fact, he can hardly make himself experience any emotions. Just as he coldly looked at Shuggazoom City with detached disdain, he does the same with his own existence and his wretched memories, nothing but phantoms. Just as he hurt his former team members with no true hatred or concern, he shrugs off any ill feelings for them. If anything, they've always amused Mandarin. So blind to his schemes until he confided in Otto—who wrung his hands and stammered that he trusted Mandarin. Until he found the rest of his friends crumpled on the main room's floor.

If there is one aspect of anyone that Mandarin detests, it's ignorance—and that encompasses na**ï**vety. Otto was a prominent example. However, they all had their stupidity. Antauri and his mystics with their idiotic concept of balance. The thought that equilibrium is the natural state of things and that conflicts simply occur as a form of homeostasis when the balance shifts. The idealists who think peace has ever existed in the universe.

Mandarin only suffers from his humiliation. Even with his cruelty and his crimes, he's nothing; as a wraith, he's not even registered on the earthly plane.

Through the darkness, a robed form appears. At first, the simian doesn't bother to ignore the distant outline ahead of him. It isn't unusual that, in this land of endless shadows, Mandarin succumbs to some shameful brands of delusion. Only when it drifts intently toward him does he stop and scrutinize the wraith.

He sneers. "And here I thought I'd gotten rid of you."

"Mandarin. If only I'd foreseen how we would next meet."

The simian crosses his arm. Contrary to what the fates may believe, he never meant to harm the alchemist. He was a mean-spirited infant monkey, but he never dreamt that his actions would unleash ancient evils upon a kindly man. Though he used to argue that it was for the best, Mandarin now feels a weak prodding at his ribcage. He only proved the universe correct—given a critical situation, and he can successfully ruin everything.

The man is just as Mandarin remembers him, gaunt and enveloped by his dark robe that drapes over his body cleanly. However, there's none of that age, that decay he brought to the man. "I created the hyperforce to bring good to the planet of Shuggazoom," the alchemist says, "I know that you regret your past."

Mandarin cackles. "Do I really? I am not your toy." He refuses to pity the man—to experience any guilt over his part in these circumstances.

"Yet, oddly enough, you served the husk that used to be my body without any reservation. You gladly let him alter your body into a grotesque monstrosity—a mockery of your former glory and position on a group of esteemed heroes."

Essentially, everything is his fault. Skeleton King. His loss of a place.

Mandarin snarls. "Esteemed? Those pests had no regard for us. Incapacitated? On another mission? It didn't concern them. Never could we satisfy those ungrateful cretins." The simian crosses his arms and glares at his maker defiantly. "You haven't the slightest idea about my motives." Of course the alchemist does. Even with his sturdy pride and polished execution of his demeanor, it's not as if his reasons were complex; he believed they were then. That's why no one followed him, he once thought.

He can't blame his team's stupidity or lack of greatness. As much as it dents his established hubris, his lack of satisfaction is caused by his ineptitude in finding his true place. And he doesn't mean a spiritual state of mind like one of his hokey brothers. To Mandarin, happiness entails having a duty and outperforming everybody in that task.

"You'll follow in my footsteps again, and you'll find me—and eventually yourself."

Mandarin shows his teeth. "Who are you to order me? You are no more living than I."

"If I give you this chance—"

"What power do you have, old man?"

The alchemist's visage seems to retreat into darker shadows. "I have a connection to a truly gracious force—and you have nothing. Except me. You abandoned your friends and your master killed you. Forgiveness, Mandarin, is a fickle thing. The line between good and evil is very fine, and one of the myriad factors into it is one's capacity to forgive."

Mandarin says dryly, "I suppose I now know who implanted those watery sayings into Antauri's bloated head."

"How? How can I earn this 'second chance' when parts of my body are strewn across a blasted wasteland?"

They feigned unconsciousness and took him by surprise. He'd thought he'd defeated them.

The alchemist says with a ghost of a smile, "You'll see."

* * *

><p>Taking down his teammates is a simple ordeal. Well, vaguely simple. Now he stands in the center of the control room, examining their unconscious forms. Most of the lights are off. He kicks Sprx's body and maneuvers over Gibson's, smiling widely. This is where they belong. Mandarin glances fondly at Nova, whose head is turned away from him. Then at Antauri. Those reassurances that Mandarin is at peace with the Power Primate—and therefore with himself and others—didn't quite shape out, did it?<p>

All of his dearest companions.

"_Nova, you look particularly stunning today. S.P.R.X.-77, why are you looking at me like that?"_

"_Sorry Mandarin. Couldn't hear you. I was too busy forgetting what a real leader looks like."_

"_My, my, are we getting jealous?"_

"_Not a chance, Mandarin."_

"_If you weren't already red, I'd be able to tell if you're blushing."_

"Get away from them!"

Well, except for one.

"Why—why would you do this? We're your friends. I—I'm your friend. Don't you care about us?"

"I never realized that a forced partner should lead me to a career in feigning affection. Stop pretending to be a clueless oaf, Otto."

"No monkey team m—"

"Oh, hush with Antauri's tired old sayings. Speak for yourself if you're going to insult me."

"Mandarin."

"Yes, _Otto_."

"You can't do this."

"You'd be surprised, as your leader, what I can do without your approval."

Otto's face loses any of its past gentleness. "You're not our leader, not anymore. You're just some other slave like—like those things we always fight!"

"That's more like it. I enjoy hearing hatred in your voice. That good-willed persona can be so grating."

Mandarin smirks. As if _he'd_ be a challenge.

* * *

><p>Mandarin opens his eyes for the first time in awhile.<p> 


End file.
